Quiet
by VickyVicarious
Summary: "She couldn't talk at the funeral." Wendy Oldbag mourns her husband.


She couldn't talk at the funeral.

Wendy hadn't written a eulogy, but then - she hadn't thought she'd need to. All her life, words had flowed easily from her lips, fast and confident regardless of the topic. Most people got tired of that pretty fast, but Matthew never had. He was such a quiet man; he always said she had enough words for both of them, and his smile was gentle enough she knew he meant it honestly.

She had so _much_ to say about him.

When her son had finished speaking, and Wendy took her place by the casket, she could have told the room about first meeting the love of her life. He wasn't her usual type - he had an elegant, refined air about him, prematurely graying hair and delicate features that somehow all complemented each other just right and attracted her immediately, despite Wendy usually preferring larger, 'manly-man' types. Matthew wasn't like that. He was quiet, shy where she was confident - but he had a backbone of steel hidden beneath his easygoing nature, a subtle sort of bravery that never let up. He was just as stubborn as she was, even if most people never realized it.

She could talk about the life they'd had together - not glamorous, but _good_. Matthew would schedule his days so that he could come visit Wendy at Global Studios for her homemade lunch, and they'd eat together in her booth. Matthew loved her cooking - she could talk about that, about the way he'd close his eyes and take a moment to just savor the first bite, about the way he'd grin at her whenever she made his favorite for dinner and lean across the table to kiss her, ignoring Ben's protests.

She could talk about what a wonderful father he was, always putting Ben first, always supporting him, being a quiet support whenever Wendy's fears about motherhood got too out of hand. She could talk about how Matthew had been so proud to see his son go to college, no matter how their savings were completely depleted. How he, who rarely ever spoke, would brag and brag about his smart son, making something of himself.

She could talk about how Matthew had loved her: constantly, devotedly, beyond her understanding at times. He showed it in so many little ways every day, little touches and kisses and gifts. He brought her flowers and pins for her hair and little treats, for no reason but that he thought she might like them. He was completely unthreatened by and indulging about her crushes on other men. He was never scared away by her aggressive method of showing her affection, stating instead that it made him feel truly loved. He always listened to her - attentively, interest never wavering, eyes bright and focused on hers.

She could talk about how he'd proposed, about their backyard wedding and grungy little apartment and how he always left the toilet seat up, never washed the dishes, left his coat on the floor, made sweet love to her on every flat surface and some that weren't. She could talk about later years too - when her hair started graying, when his heart started to give in, bit by bit. She could explain how none of it had mattered, nothing could ever have made a difference in how _happy_ they were together - until they weren't together anymore. Until his heart failed him for the last time, gave out while she was at work and wouldn't respond to anything the doctors did to get it to start again, Wendy could confide that some part of her was convinced that if she'd been there she could have told it to start again and it would have _listened_. If she'd gotten there sooner she could have at least said goodbye.

She could talk about a million things, and then a million more, and then another million and another million until she took her place in the grave right beside him, she could talk about him for the rest of her life and longer without ever running out of things to say.

Wendy stood next to her husband's grave, and opened her mouth, and no words came out. Her eyes were dry but her throat was locked up, and several long silent minutes passed, before she turned and silently walked out of the room.

She talked about everything but him, after that.


End file.
